A Great Year
by Fire Dancer1
Summary: I hear yesterday was a great year." HM


Title: A Great Year

Author: Kate/Fire Dancer

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own M*A*S*H. If I did, I'd also have my own personal Hawkeye.

Author's Note/Summary: My first M*A*S*H fic. H/M. "I hear yesterday was a great year."

~*~

Knocking on the door and swinging it open in one motion, the red-bathrobed doctor sauntered into the tent. The lone occupant whirled around, dropping her hairbrush. "Pierce!" she hissed shrilly.

He grinned and shut the door behind him with his foot. "Happy birthday, Margaret! Here's to a great year!" The two martinis in his right hand made available only his left to salute her crookedly. "A drink, Major?" He bowed low, holding the glasses out to her.

She sniffed, ignoring the proffered martini in favor of picking up the hairbrush again. "First of all," she began, brushing her hair fiercely, "_Captain_, knocking does not immediately give you permission to barge into my tent. And second of all, it is not my birthday." Margaret turned back towards her mirror, pulling the front of her robe closer together.

"Not your birthday?" Hawkeye asked in mock surprise. "Well, that's a shame!" Unceremoniously, he plopped down onto the edge of her cot, resting one martini on each knee. "Lots of nice things come with birthdays. Birthday cakes…ice cream…balloons…pony rides!" He got to his feet again, taking a long sip of his martini. "Birthday drinks, Margaret." He reached around her to place the other glass next to her mirror. His hand free, Hawkeye snaked his right arm around her waist, tugging lightly on the sash of her robe. "Birthday suits?" he murmured suggestively, his breath warm against her cheek.

Margaret gasped and on instinct, her hands came up, pushing his away and reaching to cover the gap in her robe. Hawkeye pulled away, grinning. "I'd hardly say you're…indecently attired under there, Major."

Dropping her hands, she glanced down, a smile tugging at her lips as she noticed she was still in the pants and shirt she'd been wearing all day. Embarrassed laughter was about to escape when Hawkeye spoke again. "Of course, I am a doctor. I've seen it all." He grinned again, enjoying her disgusted look. "Most, I must admit, I'd rather not see again. But you, Margaret…_You_…" He flopped dramatically back onto her cot and raised an eyebrow. "Care to join me, baby?"

"That's Major to you, Captain!" she shot back, glaring.

He threw her a sloppy salute, still flat on his back. "Of course, Major, baby." He sat up just long enough to take another sip of his martini, then lay back down again, sighing contentedly. "Nice joint you got here." He patted the cot, eyeing her slyly.

"You!" She jabbed a finger in his direction, then towards the door. "Out!"

"Maaaghhret," he sulked, drawing out her name in a poor Charles imitation, "just when we were starting to have some fun?"

She stepped closer to him, full major stance. "Benjamin Franklin Pierce. Get. Out. Of. My. Tent."

Hawkeye snapped to attention, sloshing some of the martini onto his bathrobe. "Yes, sir!" he saluted, getting off the cot and proceeding backwards out of the tent. He paused at the door. "It really is a shame it's not your birthday." He grinned, shrugging. "If you change your mind…"

"Goodnight, Pierce." Margaret closed the door behind him, closing the latch. She could hear him whistling on his way back to the Swamp. "Arrogant louse," she muttered under her breath, going back to brushing her hair. "What does a woman have to do to get some peace and quiet around here?"

She stopped mid-brush. He'd left the second martini on her table. On purpose or not, she didn't know, but thought she had a pretty good idea. Suddenly she found herself wishing she'd at least been civil to the man. She lightly touched her cheek where his breath had landed, then threw down the brush in exasperation. "Oh, to hell with it." Picking up the glass, she headed resolutely out the door.

Pausing in front of the Swamp, Margaret glanced down at the martini in her hand. She sighed, tossing the liquid onto the ground before raising her hand to knock. Almost immediately, there he was, his eyes sparkling as if he'd known she would show up at that moment. "Margaret!" he greeted her, swinging the door open, "to what do we owe this honor?" He glanced at his bunkmate, who was looking on in amusement. "Beej, did you know it's not the major's birthday today?"

BJ folded a letter he'd been reading. "I must have missed that announcement." He placed the letter carefully in his shirt pocket. "Don't tell Klinger; he has a new frock just for the occasion."

Margaret rolled her eyes, smiling, then looked back to Hawkeye. "I…ah…seem to have misplaced…the sledge you pass off as consumable liquid," she ventured, holding out her empty glass.

"You've come to the right place, baby!" Hawkeye crowed, then quickly corrected himself. "…Major baby." He winked, looking pointedly at BJ. "Beej here was just leaving."

"I was?" BJ smirked. "Oh, that's right. Hot date with post-op, you know." He swung his legs off the cot and rolled his eyes at Hawkeye on his way out the door.

Hawkeye slid an arm around Margaret's waist. "And now, madly marvelous Major Margaret, where were we?"

She waited a little too long before gently disentangling herself from his grasp. "I believe," she began, holding up her glass again, "you were about to pour me a drink."

"That I was," he grinned, taking the glass. "We're fresh out of martinis, though. What about wine? Red wine? I have a splendid bottle here. Vintage yesterday."

Margaret wrinkled her nose at the thought of Swamp wine, then smiled. "I hear yesterday was a great year."


End file.
